36. Tayana
36
TAYANA
T here’s no mistaking the burst of gunfire outside. It’s deafening, reverberating off the walls of the room like a warning shot fired straight into my chest. The sound creeps closer, louder, more relentless, and I know what it means—the cavalry has arrived. But there’s no relief in it. Not yet.
All hell breaks loose. Daniel Russo’s face twists with the realization that this isn’t a drill, that the fortress he’s borrowed isn’t as impenetrable as he thought. He barks orders at two guards, sending them out to investigate. Igor’s sharp gaze follows the guards until the door slams shut behind them.
Russo’s hand flies to his phone. He raises it to his ear, the corded tension in his neck visible from where I’m standing. Nothing. No answer. He tries again, and when the silence stretches too long, his composure snaps. With a vicious curse, he slams the phone against his thigh, his frustration palpable.
I can literally hear the men’s impatience humming through the room as Scar and Mason look for their opening. My eyes remain trained on Daniel, Rafi is watching Igor, and the guards have their weapons trained on all of us.
Daniel’s eyes lock onto Jacklyn. The angry, steely glint in his gaze could cut glass, and I know what it means even before he makes a move. He’s cold, calculated, and he has an agenda he wants to fulfill. Slowly, deliberately, he pulls his gun and points it directly at her chest.
I move before I think, instinct carrying me forward. My body reacts like it has a mind of its own, stepping in front of Jacklyn, arms spread wide, daring the bullet to find me first. The air feels electric, heavy with the weight of what’s about to happen. My heart doesn’t race—it’s steady, purposeful, as if it knows this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Fear has been my shadow for as long as I can remember, lurking behind every step I’ve taken in this unforgiving world. But now, in this moment, it’s gone. No whispers of doubt, no icy grip on my spine. There’s only resolve, burning like a fire in my chest. I am at my most peaceful. I am the calmest I’ve ever been.
Jacklyn doesn’t move behind me. I can feel her breath, quick and shallow, like she wants to scream at me but her tongue has become too tied. This isn’t about courage—it’s about what feels right. And for me, standing here, between her and death, feels as natural as breathing.
I’ve always been this way, haven’t I? Built to step in, to shield, to absorb the pain so others don’t have to. Born to save, to fix, to be the patch over wounds I didn’t create but can’t bear to leave untreated. It’s not bravery; it’s just who I am, a twisted kind of inevitability.
And if this is how I go? So be it. There’s no greater purpose than this—offering up what little I have so someone like Jacklyn, someone with fire and fight and a future, can keep going. The world still needs her, even if it doesn’t need me.
The room is chaos around me. Daniel’s voice rings out, sharp and threatening, but I barely hear it over the thrum of my own thoughts. My eyes lock onto his, daring him, taunting him, begging him to take the shot if he’s going to.
Behind me, I can feel Jacklyn shift slightly, her hand brushing against my back, as if she wants to pull me out of harm’s way but knows I’m an unmovable mountain.
“Tayana, what the hell are you doing?” someone shouts—it sounds like Igor, his voice raw with desperation, but how can that be?
I don’t answer. What is there to say? I’ve already made my decision.
Daniel’s gun wavers slightly, his eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to read me, trying to decide if I’m bluffing. I’m not. My arms stay wide, my body unmoving.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spy Rafi as he runs toward Daniel, trying to tackle him to the ground. The two men go crashing, but Daniel, gun still firmly in his hand, recovers quickly and aims his gun in my direction again, trying to get a shot at Jacklyn.
And then it happens—a sound like thunder, but not from Daniel’s gun. It’s the roar of the fight outside, rattling the walls, growing louder, closer. For a second, Daniel’s focus breaks, his head snapping toward the door.
It’s the moment I need. The moment we all need.
But chaos doesn’t wait for anyone. And just as the tide seems ready to turn, the real battle begins.
“Lucky!” Rafi’s voice booms, raw with panic. “No!”
Lucky doesn’t hesitate. He dives for Russo like a predator unleashed, but Russo is faster than he looks. He sidesteps, his gun still trained on Jacklyn. Scar and Mason are already on the move, their bodies slamming into the remaining guards, chaos spilling across the room like blood from an open wound.
“Put the gun down!” Igor snarls, his voice cutting through the pandemonium like a whip as he addresses Daniel. Igor is angry. Angry at his unfaithful sidekick, who seems to have deviated from their plan and has now gone rogue. I don’t know in what world Daniel thinks he can cross a man like Igor Aslanov; obviously, he doesn’t know him well enough.
Daniel doesn’t listen; he doesn’t even spare Igor a glance. His finger hovers over the trigger, his unsteady aim shifting between Jacklyn and me.
I can’t breathe. I’m moving, weaving, my steps unpredictable as I dare Daniel to fire and miss. I think it’s the only thing that will stop him from actually firing the gun.
“Tayana, stop!” Rafi shouts, but his voice gets swallowed in the chaos.
Lucky lunges again, and this time, he connects. He collides with Russo like a wrecking ball, and they both hit the floor in a tangle of limbs. Russo’s gun clatters to the ground, spinning out of reach for a moment. Lucky grapples with him, fists flying, but then—Daniel stretches his arm out, trying to wrap his hand around the gun again.
I move, running toward Daniel to kick the gun out of his reach, even as the gunfire outside swells, closer now, the walls shuddering with the force of it.
Daniel’s finger scrapes the side of the gun, even as Lucky struggles against him, his fist driving into his face. But then another sound cuts through the chaos, drowning out every other sound—a single gunshot from inside the room.
I stop short when I see Lucky stagger, his face contorted with pain. His hand flies to his side, blood seeping through his fingers.
“Lucky!” I yell, but I can’t get to him. Igor’s shouting again, his voice sharp with fury.
Then, without warning, Igor raises his own gun and points it at Russo.
“I told you to put it down,” Igor growls.
Russo’s eyes widen, but there’s no time for him to react. Igor pulls the trigger, the sound sharp and final. Blood pools in his chest, and Daniel Russo crumples to the floor, his lifeless eyes staring into nothing, a vicious end to a vile life.
“No!” I scream, although I don’t know why. Don’t I want Daniel Russo dead and gone? Before I can process what I’m doing, I dive toward one of the fallen guards, my hands scrambling for the weapon at his hip. I’m fast, but not fast enough.
Igor is on me in an instant, pulling me away from the guard’s body. He wrenches the gun from my grip, his strength overpowering me. He yanks me to my feet, twisting my arm behind my back.
“Enough of this,” Igor snarls, pressing his gun to my temple. My breath catches as fear finds its home again.
“Let her go!” Rafi roars, the words ripping out of him.
The door bursts open behind us, more guards flooding into the room, their weapons drawn.
“Stand down!” Igor commands, dragging me toward the door. “Or she dies.”
The room is a mess of shouts, but no one moves. Jacklyn’s face is a mask of fury and fear, her hands trembling as she grips a knife she must’ve taken from one of the guards. Scar and Mason are still fighting, but their movements slow as the odds stack higher against us.
My gaze is drawn to Lucky as he groans from the floor, his blood pooling beneath him, the color draining from his face. Jacklyn drops to his side, pressing her hands to his wound.
“We’re not done yet,” she says, her voice fierce despite the fear in her eyes. Lucky closes his eyes, and I watch in horror as his lifeless hand falls to his side.
A guttural scream erupts within the room, and I realize it’s Rafi as he looks down at his brother laying in his own blood.
Igor backs toward the exit, holding me in front of him, his men closing ranks around him. I struggle against his hold but I’m unable to break free.
“Don’t come after us,” he warns, his voice cold. “Or I’ll make sure she doesn’t survive the night.”
I find Rafi’s eyes, and he looks at me helplessly as we disappear through the door and down the hallway. I hear the door slam shut behind us, leaving Rafi in the wreckage of what we were, what we could’ve been, my heart pounding like a war drum.